


Wake the Dead

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Banter, Brotherly advice, M/M, Mild Blood and Gore, Morbid Humor, Necromancy, Sexual Humor, Supernatural Elements, Tim really needs to stop overthinking things, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “One of these days, the lecture will stick.” Tim snaps on a pair of surgical gloves and opens the cooler to retrieve a mangled arm he’s had to reattach more times than he cares to count.“Yeah, maybe your handiwork will too.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 32
Kudos: 312





	Wake the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, the blood and gore in this fic are about on par with what you'd find in a PG-13 rated movie, so it's nothing too bad. Tagging was a pain, needless to say. For JayTimSpooktober!
> 
> Thanks to Bumpkin, txbookeater, and themandylion for the beta!

The thing is, Tim didn't ask for this, the ability to raise the dead.

But, as he arches a brow at Jason when he stomps his way into the workroom, the alternatives could be worse. So many people would still be six feet underground. 

“What did you do this time?” he asks, taking note of Jason's empty jacket sleeve and the wheeled cooler dragging behind him with his free hand. 

“Had a disagreement with a troll,” the man replies. “I managed to get most of it back.” 

Tim sighs and sets aside the new lumbar vertebrae he’s been working on for Bruce in favor of reaching for his blood-stained coveralls. Sometimes, he swears Jason does this on purpose. “Most of it?”

“Fucker swallowed my hand. Didn't feel like swimming through his guts to get it back.”

Pausing in the process up zipping up what really should be his second uniform, Tim glances at the cooler. “Do you know how long it takes to grow a new hand?”

“Yeah, you’ve gone on about it before.” Jason shrugs. “I can deal with a prosthetic for a few weeks.”

Tim gestures toward the operating table that is his actual workstation more often than not and kneels beside the cooler. “Did you put it on ice?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo.” Jason hops up and removes his jacket, as well as a bloodstained shirt, revealing the stub of an arm that looks like it’s been gnawed off with some rather blunt teeth. A makeshift tourniquet stems the blood flow somewhat, but it’s clear that his zombie side is in charge right now, otherwise he’d have passed out before even arriving here. “You drilled that into my head enough too.”

“One of these days, the lecture will stick.” Tim snaps on a pair of surgical gloves and opens the cooler to retrieve a mangled arm he’s had to reattach more times than he cares to count. 

“Yeah, maybe your handiwork will too.”

“I raised you from the dead, I can put you right back down there.” 

The argument is a hollow one and they both know it. Jason is the first zombie Tim ever raised, long before he even knew what he was doing. A dunk in the Lazarus Pit technically restored the man to life, but after his second death in that blown up apartment tower where he failed in his attempt to convince Bruce to kill the Joker, the necromantic magic took hold once more.

Sort of. 

Tim still isn’t sure how he managed to do that. The only thing he can come up with is that he was distracted at the time, and pulled back on the faint bond lingering between them when it started to fade away.

What it does explain is how Jason came back without any clear set of instructions or parameters like he gives to other zombies. Moreso, it speaks to his strong will that he’s able to function without any. Even Jack needed them after Tim raised him following his murder. 

As far as he’s concerned, there was way too much death during his teen years. Someone as young as he is should not have this much experience with raising humans from the dead. Or with reattaching limbs. 

“Big words.” Jason nods toward his shoulder. “You gonna do something about this or what?”

Regaining his feet, Tim drops the arm none too gently on the operating table. “I should let you bleed out.”

“But then I’ll need the brain diet.” Jason waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Remember what happened the last time?”

The tips of Tim’s ears heat up because yes, in fact, he does. How could he have known the brain he pillaged from the city morgue belonged to a camboy? It’s not like they’re labeled with employment data. “Shut up,” he mutters, and starts poking at the wound.

“Aw, is Dr. FrankenTimmy still embarrassed about what happened between us?” Grinning, Jason leans in, which only forces Tim to draw away as best he can. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told a soul that you’re no longer a—”

Tim slaps a hand over Jason’s mouth, uncaring of the bodily fluids smeared over the gloves. They all belong to Jason anyway. “Don’t you even say it. It was a one time thing and we both know it.”

Even though there’s a part of him that wishes it wasn’t, but he’s got that locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind where there’s no chance of it ever leaking out. They have enough of a power imbalance between them due to their bond. He does _not_ want to add sex into the mix.

The glint in Jason’s teal eyes says he won’t be letting it go anytime soon, but through their bond, Tim can feel his retreat on the topic. 

Good.

Lowering his hand, he prods the wound. “What did you do with that troll?” he asks, changing the topic. “Try to shake his tonsils?”

“Yeah, because that’s how you make friends with a troll,” Jason retorts. “Hey there, Mr. Troll. Just open wide and let’s all be friends.”

“You’re evading the question.”

Jason shifts in discomfort. “He snuck up on me.”

Tim looks up, mouth falling open. “What on earth were you doing that a _troll_ snuck up on you? They’re not exactly known for being stealthy.”

“I might have been distracted.”

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so Tim lets it be and returns to his work. Having a troll sneak up on you is rather humiliating. 

Sinew, veins, and lumps of flesh dangle beneath his hand. White bone shines under the fluorescent lights hanging from above. All in all, the wound is a mess. Picking up the arm, he flips it around so that the larger end mostly connects where it used to belong.

“Hold still,” Tim warns, then taps into the deep, cold well that is his power over life and death, flesh and bone. 

Icy magic courses through him, the scent of earth and death tickling at his nose as power rises upward. Skillfully, he directs it toward Jason, his will bending it to what he wants done. Beneath his hands, bone reknits and muscles repair themselves. Torn flesh becomes whole once more.

Directing his attention to the other end of the limb, Tim seals the wounded stump on Jason’s wrist. He has enough tissue samples already to clone a new hand, so no need to waste magic forcing a new one to grow out of nothing. Besides, he has to head over to the Manor soon with Bruce’s vertebrae. Dealing with a spine is always tricky, so he needs to keep his reserves full.

Finished, he carefully lowers the healed arm, forcing his necromantic power back into the darkness where it belongs.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how you look when you do that,” Jason breathes and Tim looks up, blinking fast to clear the fog lingering in his brain.

“Huh?”

“Your eyes glow. They’re always blue, but when you’re in the zone, they turn this silvery shade.”

That’s... different.

“Everyone else tells me they feel a breeze that smells like a charnel house crossed with wet earth,” Tim offers, stepping away from the other man. His teal gaze is intense and for a moment, Tim’s mental door shakes as his locked away desires struggle to break free.

“Then everyone else is a—” Jason’s words are lost under the ping of Tim’s comm coming online.

Thanking the powers that be for the distraction, he turns his back on the zombie. “Red Robin,” he answers, deftly removing the surgical gloves and tossing them in the hazmat bin.

“Hey, Doc!” says Stephanie in a cheerful voice. “Is Hood with you?”

Tim glances over at the table where Jason still sits without a shirt on. “Yes, but he was just about to leave.”

“Tell him that Cass and I found his hand. It’s still mostly intact too.”

“I thought it was swallowed by a troll?”

“Yup!” Steph replies with far too much amusement. “But while zombie boy was losing limbs left and right, it was no match against two weres.”

True enough. There isn’t much in the world that a werewolf and a werepanther can’t claw or bite their way through. 

“I’ll let him know. Would you rinse it off and put on ice for me?”

“Already on it. We’re on our way to the safe house near that taqueria we all like. He can meet us there. You want any tacos?”

“They’ll be all soggy by the time he gets back here, but I will take a plate of barbacoa.” Worse comes to worst, he can reheat it later.

“Sounds good! Laters.” The comm pings as the line closes.

“Steph says she and Cass found your hand,” Tim tells Jason. “If you want it reattached tonight, go get it. I’ll be at the cave working on Bruce for a while, but will be back later.”

Jason slides off the exam table and saunters far too close for someone who is only wearing a pair of pants. They’re his uniform pants too, so they’re well-fitted and do nothing to hide just how thick his thighs are and…

“Personal bubble?” Tim tries as he places a hand on Jason’s chest to shove him away. 

Big mistake. 

His power wells up inside again, warmer than usual as though it too is being fed by the desire stirring between them. He jerks his hand away to break the connection, but Jason grabs hold of his wrist. 

“Why do you always run away?” he asks, low and intense.

“You know why.”

“Spell it out for me.”

Tim swallows around the lump in his throat. He should never have slept with Jason, despite it being everything he’d ever wished for and then some. His love for him, for _Robin,_ is what brought him back in the first place. 

“How do you know that what you feel for me is because of your own feelings instead of mine?” he answers quietly. “We both know how you’ve managed to come back each time. I try so hard to make sure that your will is your own, but—I can’t be certain when it comes to this.”

Jason sighs and presses his warm lips to the soft skin of Tim’s inner wrist. “I know all of this, Tim. I’ve thought about it a lot, even during times when I just wanted to drop-kick you off the nearest bridge. What do I have to do to convince you this is all me?”

Tim closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotion-hazed teal. “I don’t know, Jason. I just don’t know.”

* * *

The walk down to the cave doesn’t take long. Upon raising his dad from the dead, Jack and Bruce decided that living in the city might not be the best thing for a teenage sidekick with necromantic powers. The guest house at the manor was quickly converted into a space where Tim could learn to consciously control his arcane ability. 

Needless to say, the Wayne family graveyard was off limits, but accidents happened—ones that Tim took great pains to conceal. As far as he knows, Bruce has no idea how often he’d raised Thomas Wayne after the first time he did it for him.

He really didn’t mean for it to happen again, but well... the man had been a doctor in life and a damned good one. Once Tim learned he could repair limbs and organs, he needed _someone_ to explain all the dry medical texts he found in the manor library before deciding he probably should go to college.

Being a necromancer didn’t exactly convey instant mastery and knowledge over how the human body worked, after all. Though it did make autopsies a hell of a lot easier.

“Good evening, Master Tim,” Alfred greets him as he enters the cave with his macabre package. “I trust that Master Jason has been patched up after his run in with that troll?”

“As much as he can be. He left to fetch his hand.” Tim ignores Damian training on the mats in favor of heading over to the med-bay where Bruce lies in traction. The little demon might not be an actual kid anymore, but his favorite pastime is still giving him crap each time they meet. “Hey, B. I have your new back.”

“Thank you. I’ve been in this torture device long enough.”

Tim glares down at the man. “I’ll have you know that it takes a lot of work and skill to generate a new vertebrae. You’re the one who told me to do it, rather than healing what’s left.”

On the mats, Damian snickers and, from the large aquarium that encircles most of the cave, Dick does too as his head pops above water. “He’s got you there, Bruce. You argued that your back has been repaired too many times and is no longer—what was the phrase you used?— _structurally sound?_ ”

“I seem to recall those exact words as well, Master Dick,” Alfred states, passing Tim as he heads further into the med-bay to prepare the surgery suite. “I, for one, am grateful that we have Master Tim in our lives. This house would be far too quiet without him.”

Dick crosses his arms on the edge of the tank, his long tail and fins drifting in the current. “No kidding. I like having siblings.”

“You like trying to drown us,” Damian states, setting his practice sword aside to join Tim and his father. The teenager’s shadow flickers in the light, trying to retreat in on itself.

“If you can escape me in the water, you can escape from anything.” 

This is true. The mer’s grip more closely resembled an octopus, but he doesn’t take well to being compared to a cephalopod. The one time Damian did it, he really did almost drown. Such a shame he didn’t. Tim almost wishes he had because then he could have instilled some actual manners into his brother, assuming his commands even work on a half-human, half-shadow demon hybrid.

Only one way to find out. The thought never ceases to amuse him.

Bruce clears his throat, drawing their attention back on to him. “I do appreciate the time and effort, Tim. It’s just…”

“You get cranky when you can’t get up and move around like you’re used to,” Tim finishes for him. “We know. But at least you got to play catch up with your sleep.”

Dick snorts. “Not really. Why do you think most of us have been avoiding the cave while he’s stuck down here? Except for Damian.”

“Really?” Tim eyes his all-too-human mentor with a wry smirk. “Having fun bossing him around?”

Damian snorts and crosses his arms. “As if. That’s what Pennyworth is for.”

“I’ve been instructing him on the finer points of interrogation and deduction,” Bruce attempts to defend himself, but neither of his adopted sons buy it for a second and start laughing while his blood son bristles.

“I’ll have you know it’s been very _insightful_ —” Damian tries, but Dick just snorts.

“Is that why I caught you dozing earlier when I came to check on Bruce?”

“You can’t prove it!”

Tim smiles quietly and follows after Alfred, leaving the bickering behind. Say what you will about his unconventional family, but it’s definitely never boring.

The procedure takes a few hours, even with Alfred and Dick’s assistance. Merfolk are capable of shapeshifting to walk around on land with two legs, although they need to remain close to water at all times. The extra set of hands is welcome while Alfred manages the anesthesia keeping Bruce asleep.

Still, by the time Tim is done, he almost wishes Damian had been able to help. The teenager, unable to withstand the bright surgical lights, spent his time hovering above them, offering all sorts of unhelpful comments as the hours passed. 

“You okay, Tim?” Dick asks.

Removing his hands from the now unblemished flesh, Tim looks up with tired eyes. “Nothing that sleep won’t fix.” 

“You actually going to do that?”

Tim yawns as he steps away to remove his surgical gown, then his gloves. “Yeah, I think so. Jason’s hand can wait.”

Damian snickers. “I’m surprised you don’t keep extras lying around.”

“Why would I do that?” Tim glances up at the floating teen.

“He loses limbs so often. Is there any part of him that’s still original?”

“Plenty,” he huffs. 

“I’m sure you’ve thoroughly inspected him for your tissue samples.”

Tim gapes as Damian’s insinuation sinks in. He’s tired, sue him for being this slow on the uptake.

Dick picks up on it too, grinning wide and revealing far-too-sharp-teeth for a human mouth. “He’s got samples on all of us, D. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have your tail back.”

This clearly means nothing to Damian as he keeps going. “For all we know, he’s cloned Todd’s cock to use as a—”

“One more word,” Tim interjects, power flaring icily as his anger rises, bringing with it the scent of the grave, “and you’ll spend the next month in Titus’s body.”

The reminder that he can easily swap souls between bodies if he wishes it, not to mention the fact the old dog had died a natural death last year after ten full years of life, is enough to have Damian back down. “Fine. You and Todd should just fornicate already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

With that, the shadow demon disappears, presumably to wait upstairs for Alfred and Bruce.

At this point, Tim can’t care less.

“I think I have it from here,” Alfred announces, wheeling over the freshly made gurney to transport Bruce to his bedroom where he’ll be more comfortable. “Master Dick, would you be so kind as to escort Master Tim home? I’d hate for him to pass out in the nasturtiums again.”

Pass out _once_ and they never let you forget about it. Sheesh.

Tim smiles weakly. “Really, I’m fine.”

But Dick is already stripping down, eager to be rid of the loose surgical gown he’d put on when he emerged from his tank earlier. “Come on. There’s something I want to ask you about anyway.”

“Good night, Master Tim,” Alfred says with a small nod. “Thank you for putting Master Bruce back to rights.”

Tim has manners, so he bites back his comment about how it’ll be Bruce’s knees giving out next. He’s already got the new ones started. “You’re welcome, Alfred.” 

They leave the cave and head upstairs. It isn’t until they’re crossing the back veranda that Dick speaks up.

“So.” 

It’s a leading statement that Tim doesn’t see a point in replying to.

“I was talking with Jason yesterday.”

Crap. Tim opens his mouth, but Dick continues. 

“Do you have any idea how much he cares for you?”

Tim’s answering sigh is pained. “Yes, I do. But it’s not _real_. He’s just picking up on my feelings and responding in turn.”

“You sure about that?”

“It’s the only answer that makes sense.” Tim turns pleading eyes on his brother. “Jason didn’t start feeling this way until after I brought him back the second time. It’s a side effect of how I did it. The bond I have with everything I’ve raised? It’s different with him.”

Dick’s luminous eyes gleam in the moonlight. “How so?”

“Well, he’s still running around without any orders from me. Everyone else, I have to visit every week to make sure they’re not craving deep fried brains or something.”

“Isn’t that a delicacy somewhere?”

“Probably.”

“So Jason doesn’t need brains that often?”

Tim keeps his mouth shut because the camboy incident is still too fresh.

Dick, damn him, keeps talking. “Even if he does, that has nothing to do with how he feels.”

“It has _everything_ to do with how he feels.”

“So give him an order then.”

“What?” Tim stops on the lawn and narrows his eyes. “How’s _that_ supposed to help?”

Dick slings an arm across his shoulders, a human gesture he absolutely loves, and grins. “Give him an order to disregard any feelings he might be picking up from you, and then have him evaluate how he feels. Simple as that.”

It can’t be that easy. 

Can it?

“Think about it,” Dick says, releasing Tim only to shove him hard to get him moving again. “This is as far as I go. Unless you want me to sleep in your bathtub?”

“It’s full of fish right now,” Tim replies absently, still replaying his brother’s words in his mind as he stumbles. “I was cleaning the tank this morning, then got distracted.”

“I could use a snack.”

“My fish are off limits. Go drown Damian or something.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s on your Christmas list.”

“It’s been on my Christmas list since he was ten. Nine years later, I’m still waiting.”

Dick laughs and turns back to the manor. “Good night, little brother. Get some sleep.”

“That’s not an answer!” But Tim is laughing too as he takes the final steps toward the guest house he calls home.

Yawning, he opens the door. It really can’t be that simple. But he’s been told more than once that he has a tendency to overcomplicate things, so perhaps Dick is right. 

Inside, Tim finds Jason sprawled across the couch, socked feet propped up on one arm while the throw pillows are piled on the other side, supporting him as he reads by the dim light of the lamp on the end-table.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks, I did.” Jason grins and lowers his tablet. He only ever uses it for reading when he’s missing things like fingers or hands. “Did you know that you have fish in your bathtub?”

“Yup.” Tim crosses the living room in favor of the kitchen and the barbacoa Jason had better have brought with him. Food sounds great right about now, especially since he can smell the tantalizing scent of slow-cooked beef.

“Half of them are dead.”

“I can fix that.”

Jason snickers. “But then the others will end up as fish food. Circle of life and all that.”

He has a point. 

Opening the fridge door, Tim frowns when the expected container of barbacoa doesn’t magically appear. 

“It’s in the microwave,” Jason offers, joining him. “I got here maybe an hour ago and figured you’d be back soon.”

“Thanks.” Tim diverts to the microwave and finds the promised food. Removing the container, he takes a seat at the table, fishes out a tortilla, and dives in.

A glass of water is placed within reach by Jason, who chuckles. “Carnivore.”

“You try using your powers for three hours straight while Damian heckles you.”

“Pass.” The man takes a seat across from him, his gaze steady as Tim inhales his meal. “I heard Dick with you,” Jason says after a few minutes. “Did he...did he talk to you?”

A few missing pieces of the puzzle snap into place. 

“The orders were your idea?” Tim asks, reaching for a napkin from the center of the table.

“Yeah.”

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself?” He needs to know. He _has_ to know if he’s going to do this.

“Because it’s the only way I can think of to get you to believe me.” Jason looks so earnest, so raw, that it pains Tim to think it’s entirely possible he’ll never see him this open ever again.

“And if you’re wrong?”

Jason leans back and spreads his hands. “Then we both have our answers.”

Yeah, they will. 

Tim closes his eyes and when he reopens them, he’s tapped into his power. The deep well of darkness lies before him, beckoning with its cold embrace. But he doesn’t need to call it forth, not for this. He toes the edge and snags a tendril, directing it at Jason.

“Hear me,” he intones, going for the more formal inflection because they all have an over-inflated sense of drama—thanks, Bruce. “From this moment forward, I order you to disregard any feelings you consciously or subconsciously receive from me through our bond. Use only your own judgement to determine how you truly feel for me. Hear me, and obey.”

Jason’s eyes blaze as the order takes root, the pupils all but disappearing under the intense blue.

It always takes a few minutes for a person to fully absorb their orders, so Tim cleans up the remains of his dinner and heads upstairs to take a shower. The scientific side of him really wants to see how their brains light up as their neural pathways are rewired, but he’s resisted the urge to experiment so far. Maybe one day, if things don’t go to hell, Jason will let him.

The shower does nothing to dispel the worry that he just royally fucked things up.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Tim opens the door and stops.

Jason is leaning against the bedroom door across the room, arms crossed and frowning faintly. 

“You okay?” Tim asks. Talk about a loaded question. 

“That was...quite the experience,” Jason offers after a moment. “I’ve seen you do it before, but having it done on me—it’s a lot to process.”

“I bet, especially given the nature of my instructions.” Tim heads over to the dresser to retrieve some clean boxers and an undershirt to sleep in.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

The voice is a lot closer than Tim expects and he turns to find Jason moving to box him in against the dresser. His gaze is intense, but there’s no hint of anger in his eyes, so that’s a win.

“Hi,” he says, because what else do you say when a zombie is pressing up against you? Tim is suddenly all too aware that he’s wearing only a towel.

“Hi,” Jason replies, a ghost of a smile appearing before it turns into the cocky smirk that never fails to drive Tim up the wall. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I still feel the same way I did before.” 

“Oh. That’s good?”

Jason chuckles and leans in. “I’m also still firmly convinced you’re an idiot who overthinks things.”

“I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“Nope.” Jason traces the line of Tim’s jaw and the smirk grows. “So. Can I ravish you now?”

“What do you think?” Tim grabs the front of Jason’s t-shirt and yanks, closing the remaining distance between them. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Omake:
> 
> The next morning:
> 
> Down in the workroom, Tim is reattaching Jason’s troll-mangled hand. 
> 
> “This is disgusting. I should have just cloned a new one.”
> 
> “That’s still my original hand. I’d like to keep it for as long as I can.”
> 
> Tim snickers as he remembers Damian’s comment from the night before. 
> 
> “What?” Jason asks, warily.
> 
> “Did you know that Damian thinks I’ve cloned your cock to use as a dildo?”
> 
> Jason chokes, then grows thoughtful. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “But—”
> 
> “No.”


End file.
